To Love At All
by SadieGrace
Summary: "To love at all is to be vulnerable..." A collection of unrelated Densi one-shots. Chapter 13: "She smiles politely while James makes the introductions, and then Deeks is grinning madly and tugging her into his side as he introduces her."
1. A Sigh of Relief

_AN: At the beginning of the summer I started what expected would be a collection of Densi drabbles and one-shots that I would work on and post over the summer. That collection never materialized, but this fluffy little scene is one that I started and has stuck in my mind. If I ever get around to writing the others, they'll be posted here as well._

_This first one is set at the resolution of the Deep Trouble story line, presumably in what will be the end of Deep Trouble Part 2. _

_I don't own anything NCIS:LA related. _

* * *

_"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one." CS Lewis_

* * *

Talia leaves the boatshed at the end of the day tired, but not unsatisfied. She genuinely likes this team, despite their aversion to sharing. They're good agents, good people and, in addition their incredible efficiency, they almost seem more like a family than a workplace unit. She's been on her own too long to really remember what that feels like, but her gut tells her that she's in the midst of something good.

There's a slight smile on her face as she walks out the doors. She wouldn't have been averse to getting to know a certain shaggy detective better, but the moment she heard the way he talked about his partner when they first met she should have known that he was off the market. She likes to think that maybe if she'd met him before Kensi Blye was in the picture she would have had a good shot at him. But then, something tells her that before Kensi Blye was in the picture she might have met an entirely different Marty Deeks.

A murmur of voices greets her as she opens the door, and as she rounds the corner to where her car is parked they become clearer. There, between her and her car, one scowling brunette has her hand on the door handle of her SUV. The owner of a blonde mop is leaning against the door, deliberately preventing her from opening it.

"How can I make it up to you, Kens?" He's asking, purposefully blocking her entrance to her car.

"Pizza? Thai food? Donuts? Rocky Road? The last of my stash of original Twinkies that you think I don't know that you know is in my bedroom closet?"

Her scowl deepens:

"Why do you always think you can buy my forgiveness with food?"

He leans closer: "Because I know you so very, very well."

As he speaks, he maneuvers closer and closer until her body is trapped between his and the car, one of his forearms on either side of her head, their bodies not quite touching until she breathes too deeply.

She raises her eyebrows skeptically but doesn't shy away from him.

His face grows serious as he looks at her.

"I was an idiot, Kens," he admits quietly.

"I've been an idiot these last few weeks thinking we could go back to before. Thinking it would be better if we just went back." A hand comes up to rest on her cheek and keeps her maintaining eye contact:

"I don't want to go back."

Kensi doesn't respond as he inches closer, and when his lips touch hers it's so reverent that it's like prayer and a plea and a sigh of relief all in one.

The moment is so intimate that Talia has to look away, and only then realizes that she has actually stopped moving and is just standing there watching them. As she resumes walking, she can still see them in her peripheral vision as they separate and speak again in low voices, oblivious to her presence.

"Am I forgiven?"

"You can't just kiss me and expect everything to be okay, Deeks."

His voice turns enticing as he plays his ace in the hole: "I'll buy you that deep fried, cream filled, chocolate covered heart-attack-waiting-to-happen that you like so much..."

She swats his chest with one hand and pushes him away. The last thing Talia hears as she closes her car door is Kensi's voice:

"And the Twinkies. And you better not have eaten any of them."


	2. Counting Up

_AN: I started this piece shortly after Kensi left for Afghanistan last season- I'm not thrilled with the end result, but wanted to finish it anyway, so here it is. This was my perspective on how her absence and return could have gone. Clearly, it's not canon after "The Frozen Lake." _

_I own nothing... obviously, since it didn't happen this way. _

* * *

It's been 68 days and 14 hours since he's seen her. Ten weekends. Two months, seven days. Three holidays –Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. Half a season of Top Model.

He likes to quantify it like that, likes to know concretely the days and the measures of the time. Because he can't count down the days until she gets home, for some reason it feels like counting up the days since she left is almost as good, because today he has made it through 68 ½ days of whatever that total number is going to be, so there must be 68 ½ less looming ahead of him.

He missed her most at Christmas. Christmas has become _theirs,_ in a way. When she's not off on secret vendettas over the holiday, they spend it together and then ignore the significance of that. She's got her mom now, but he had hoped that he'd still get her for part of the day. He'd hoped maybe this year they wouldn't need to ignore what it meant. He decides those were valid hopes when Julia calls him on Christmas.

"I just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas, Marty," she tells him. "Kensi said she was going to bring you with her for Thanksgiving; I was hoping that we'd have her back by Christmas and you'd both be able to be here."

He can't remember the last time he spent Christmas with anything resembling a real family. He's been pretty sure Julia was rooting for them as a couple for a while, but that definitely confirms it.

"They told me she's ok—nothing more than that, but she's ok."

He gets the same message—a scripted call from Director Vance's office that doesn't tell him much more than that she's alive and must have stomped on some toes pretty hard to be allowed to send even that much of a message home.

He bought an "Our First Christmas Together" ornament and put a picture from the Justin-and-Melissa weeks in it. It's shiny and silver and sparkly and she would have made fun of him for it. He spends Christmas day staring at it and deciding that it's kind of a ridiculous ornament, actually. It wouldn't actually have been the first Christmas they spent together, and they're not actually _together _for their first Christmas together. He keeps it anyway.

Sam's family invited him for Christmas dinner, but he turned down the invitation, despite threats of Michelle's wrath. Sam's house can be noisy, and if Kensi tried to call he didn't want to be in a place where the noise could drown out the phone ringing. After the call from Vance, he almost regrets not going. After that cryptic message he can't convince himself that there's any hope that she'll still have the chance to call.

She's supposed to be here.

He tells Santa that he's spent enough crappy Christmases alone, and that if she could just come home this year for Christmas that would make up for all those rotten ones. He actually hopes that maybe karma will work in his favor and she'll come walking through his door on Christmas morning and set everything back in balance, but in the end he just adds it to his list of lonely holidays.

* * *

On New Years' he thinks of the old proverb that says that whoever you're with at midnight is the person that you'll be with for the rest of the year. He decides that night that he's not really actually superstitious. Nothing against Monty, but he's still hoping for someone else.

He still hasn't quite forgiven Hetty, and she knows it. He's careful, though, about showing it too clearly; he's aware that their future as partners probably rests on their ability to prove that they can remain professional and do their jobs regardless of their personal feelings, so he does his best to hide his feelings and continue on as if he still had absolute faith in their diminutive leader.

Hetty breaks out another expensive bottle of alcohol for his birthday in January, but he leaves while half of his glass is still sitting on the table. He can't help but feel like she has intentionally taken away the only thing that he actually wants for his birthday, and hundred dollar scotch is a poor substitute.

Nell calls him in the evening. He mutes the TV before he answers because it seems more pathetic to be watching Titanic alone on his birthday if there is a chance that someone other than Monty will know about it.

"I know we haven't heard from Kensi, but I know if she could, she would tell me to wish you a happy birthday for her."

He grins a little bit at that—next to him, Nell knows Kensi better than anyone else.

"Bet she wouldn't have forgotten this year." He chuckles into the phone.

"No, she wouldn't. She _miiight _have already had plans," she suggests mischievously.

"Eric and I are still monitoring everything we see for anything that looks like it might be related to her, but we don't really have much to go on. So far nothing."

Eric had offered, in a roundabout, hypothetical way, before Christmas to try to hack into the DOJ's classified files to find out anything he could about Kensi and her mission. Deeks had turned him down. He isn't willing to risk his friend's career for his need to know—yet— but it sounds more and more tempting every day.

* * *

By the time Valentine's Day is approaching, he's trying to convince himself that he shouldn't even bother to hope that she'll be home for what should have been their first Valentine's Day together. He refrains from buying the "Our First Valentine's" picture frame that's for sale in the same aisle of the drug store where he bought the Christmas ornament. They're over the two month mark since she left, and he still hasn't heard any word that her return is getting any closer. He's settled on "no news is good news" because he knows that, even on a classified mission, they'd hear fairly quickly if there was a body being sent home from wherever-in-the-world she is. He convinces himself that the package of Valentine's chocolates his picks up is really for him, and not because he wants to have something for her on the off-chance that she does show up for Valentine's.

It's nine days before Valentine's Day – not that he's counting—and he's sitting in the armory cleaning his gun when the door opens. For a moment he thinks he's hallucinating, but he thinks if he was really hallucinating she probably wouldn't look so tired.

She stops just in front of him, and for a long moment they just stand there, blinking at each other. Finally Deeks breaks the silence.

"Thapa told me how to cross a frozen lake."

The weariness disappears as a smile splits her face. And then her face is buried in his neck and she's finally _finally_ in his arms and he's quite possibly never going to let go again.

* * *

She appears on Valentine's Day with beer from the drug store on the corner. He's got dinner and candles and roses and chocolate and she has no idea what she's walking into when he opens the door. He really hadn't meant to do quite this much. She made him promise no reservations at fancy restaurants, and he intends to keep the promises he makes to her, but she's been gone for months and it's the first Valentine's Day that he has ever felt like _meant_ something and he can't bear to let it pass without fanfare.

He's cleaned the apartment from top to bottom and transformed his dining room table into an elegant restaurant setting. When she comes through the door and discovers what he's done, she just raises her eyebrows at him. Pulling the beer from the bag, she stores it in the fridge and wordlessly places on more item on an empty corner of the table.

He can't help but grin as her eyes dare him to comment on her purchase. He just hands her the single rose that he'd saved out of the vase on the table. He's fascinated by the hint of a blush that appears on her cheeks as she bends to smell it. With one arm he draws her toward him and presses his lips to her forehead. With the other, he holds his phone away from them to snap a photo.

She'll never admit it, but she's just as much of a romantic as he is. The shiny red picture frame that he refrained from buying just days earlier is sitting there glittering at him, testifying to that fact. Its silver and rhinestone letters scroll across the bottom:

"Our First Valentines"

_Our first_, he thinks, and smiles. It's time to start counting up again, only instead of anxiously waiting until he can stop counting, this time he's planning to count to infinity.


	3. Enough

_A/N: This scene would take place within the first chapter of my other story _In Due Time, _in the interim year after Deeks gives back Kensi's dad's knife in Three Hearts and before… well, before the rest of what happens in that story._ _It didn't make it in there, but I still liked it. _ _It's not necessary to read that one to understand this, but it will make a lot more sense. If you haven't read it, this would take place in the months after Deeks puts an end to their "thing" by returning Kensi's dad's knife, as Deeks attempts to distance himself from Kensi and Kensi waits for him to come back to her._

* * *

It's been three months. Three shatteringly grueling months. Three months in which he shows up each day at work braced to pretend that he hasn't just given up the only thing he really wants in life. He goes through the motions of the days, the cases, the movies nights, the celebratory dinners, and gradually the carefully controlled emotions give way to numbness. It's easier once the numbness arrives, it lets him convince himself that it's possible for everything to go back to the way it was _before_. Before Kensi. Before tacos. Before Afghanistan. Before Angelo.

The numbness turns into an inferno of conflicting emotions when Hetty calls them into her office one day to tell them they're going under. Together. As a couple. As a newly _married_ couple. As a _pregnant _newly married couple.

It sounds like heaven and it sounds like hell.

He sits by her on the couch on movie nights and drinks beer with her and watches stupid television, but he doesn't touch her anymore. And while he craves the freedom to touch her again, it's he himself who has carefully set those boundaries, because touching her even in the most innocent of ways is too much when he won't let himself hold her the way he wants to. But a new husband will touch his wife every chance he gets. It's not going to be a problem to remember to touch her; the problem is going to be remembering that it all has to end again.

* * *

A few days in, they're sitting there in their cozy living room after dinner, across from the next-door neighbors who want to hear all about their wedding and his proposal and how "Kylie" told "Bryan" she was pregnant. Katie and Matt are half a decade older than they are, friendly and normal and still sweetly in love after a twelve years of marriage. Deeks made it through a proposal story without giving anything away, but now Kensi is telling a cutesy little story of how Kylie announced her pregnancy and all his energy is going into controlling his face and his body language.

It's a special level of purgatory listening to Kensi narrate one of his deepest, most secret desires. She's clearly uncomfortable at first; it's probably only noticeable to him, but she paused a beat waiting for him to make up the story before realizing that at this moment he is incapable. Because, just a few minutes ago, making up a story of how he chased her down and convinced her to marry him had felt like a playful way to dream out loud without giving away the fact that he still _wanted_ all that more than he had wanted anything in his life.

Sometimes what he _wants_ and what he knows is _best_ are two completely different things.

It hadn't taken long before the universe had punched him in the kidneys with the reminder that he _couldn't have it_. After that, the story had taken a u-turn away from happy and playful until his own words felt like just a mockery of his own heart.

He can't deny that telling the neighbors their fake "good news" had given him frissons of very real pride and excitement. Even now, listening to Kensi make up stories about how Kylie had told Bryan that she was pregnant, a part of him wonders if that is how _she_ might tell _him_ that they were going to have a baby. _A baby_. The rest of him cruelly quashes the delighted spark of wonder that came with the thought. She isn't ever going to tell him she's having his baby. She isn't ever going to be _his_ at all. Marty Deeks doesn't get things like that. Happy, forever, _good_ things.

He's been her partner for four years. She's been his best friend for more than three. He's got a family at NCIS that finally feels like home. All that is more than he ever thought he'd have, more than he's ever had before. All that is good. His life is good. Problem is, all that makes it suddenly seem like maybe it's okay to want _more. _It's safer not to want anything, not to dream of anything, because if there's one thing his life has taught him, it's that dreams are just a vehicle for disappointment.

Except, maybe, the dream of keeping Kensi as his partner. That one, these days, he can almost believe is attainable. He thinks maybe, just maybe, if he can bury these dangerous, terrible, wonderful feelings for her and keep the darkness under control, she might stick around. He thinks they might make it to five years like Callen and Sam, and if heaven is being particularly kind, maybe they could make ten.

Except, somewhere in those ten years he's dreaming of, she's going to meet someone else and she's going to move on. Someone without all this darkness inside him is going to grow the cojones to tear her walls down and stick around to make her believe in him and fall in love with him. And she's going to marry him, and one day she'll tell them that she's going to have _his _baby. And, heaven help him, even if he makes it through the wedding, _that _is going to kill him.

But, he thinks, if he can have just that _one _smaller dream, just keep her around, then maybe he can survive the rest. Because he already knows he doesn't get the big dreams. Even the ones that are just normal expectations for other people are out of reach for Marty Deeks. But, if he can keep his expectations low, down to just _this one_ _little thing_, then maybe he can have it? If he can banish the thoughts of gold rings and holidays and warm beds and little ones with blue eyes and brown curls, then maybe he can just keep what he has? That's what it feels like, like keeping what he has is always contingent on not wanting too much, not reaching for anything more.

Then she kisses him, quick and sweet and natural. And it's all he can do to keep his face soft for Katie and Matt and his butt in his seat, because everything in him needs to run for the door, to get out of there and just _breathe_. Because she means too much with that kiss, and this is not a cover he can just drop and leave behind when they leave this house. She can never know that this is still _everything_ he wants. The knowledge that these kisses here in this house, on this op, are the only ones he's ever going to get is suddenly overwhelming. It was okay, those first days, before he let himself remember who he was, what he's done. Before he remembered that this was a limited time offer; Kensi's love and kisses and coming home to her are going to expire shortly. Even if it was "Kylie" and it didn't mean anyhting, he let it feel like it meant something. But it doesn't, and now it just feels like they're making a mockery of his own heart, and it _aches_, deep down to his bones.

He's listening to her story, enough to make at least the appropriate additions to the narrative, a reminder that _Bryan_ does get "all he ever wanted." He gets his girl and his baby and the happily-ever-after.

He's never going to be Bryan.

He tells himself that kissing her hair, breathing her in, is just his part of the cover, but he knows deep down that he's lying to himself. Really, it's goodbye. It's one last desperate hit of his addiction before he goes cold turkey. He'll still have to hold her, probably kiss her again to complete this op. They'll still share a bed and a house. But this, this is one last moment that he lets the hope live, just for a second, before he squashes it completely, smashes the light out and flings the remains into neverland.

Because the longer the hope lives, the brighter it gets, the more it hurts when it's gone.

It's better to kill it now.

He knows his body will betray him and wrap itself around her while he sleeps. He knows he'll kiss her to sell their cover to the neighbors. He knows he'll speak to her in endearments like a young husband would.

He knows it's going to _hurt_ like nothing else ever has.

But, surely that will pass. They can go back to OSP, back to Kensi and Deeks, back to working without the constant reminders of all that he wants and can't have. He _can_ have his partner and his best friend, just so long as he can make it through this and stop wanting anything else. He keeps that mantra running through his mind for the rest of the evening. _Keep your partner. You can have that. That's enough. Just keep your partner._

It's not enough, and he has to get out of there as soon as the door is closed behind Katie and Matt. He needs to get somewhere where he can't _smell _her and he needs to _do _something.

Really, he needs to surf, needs to be in control and let the waves try to wash away what feels suspiciously like _grief_. But that's not an option now, so he goes for the dishes instead, turns the water as hot as it will go, puts enough green apple scented dish soap in for four times the dishes that are there, and tries to channel the tension coursing through him into vigorously scrubbing the pots.

He knows she knows something is up. She can read him like he does her. He knows she cares, knows she's just waiting for him to open up and tell her what he wants. He just needs a few minutes to breathe, to force himself to switch modes, to steel himself to stay strong and to finish this business. He just needs a few minutes to come up with a believable answer before she makes him tell her what's wrong.

So, he scrubs and tells himself over and over again: _Just keep your partner. That's enough. That's enough. Just keep your partner._

_Just keep Kensi._

_That's enough._


	4. Get You, Take Two

_AN: The almost-twin to this story is already posted on my profile as a one-shot. If you've read that one, you won't find this one substantially different. That one was written from an early draft that I had saved online before my computer crashed. This one comes from the more advanced draft that was on my recently resurrected computer. While they're the same in essence, there were enough small differences that I ended up liking this one quite a bit better. Since the countdown to the finale is now in its final week, it seemed like a good time to add it to this little collection. _

_This is set speculatively at the end of Deep Trouble Part 2. The story is based on the premise that Sam and Callen are safe, Hetty is in Washington DC, Talia has returned to the DEA, and Kensi and Deeks have not yet discussed anything further about their relationship or the events of Three Hearts through Deep Trouble Part 1._

* * *

Usually, when a case is closed and the day is over, Kensi's world settles back into a sense of relative stability. Once the ripples of chaos disperse, she goes back to her routine of normal life—or as normal as life gets for Kensi Blye.

Nothing has been normal for a while now.

Since her deployment to Afghanistan, her whole world has been shifting unsteadily on its axis. Her deployment, Jack's reappearance, her captivity, her return, the unsettle nature of her relationship with Deeks, Sam and Callen's perilous day—they're all swirling around her and conspiring to knock her out of balance. Now, in the space of one day, it feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her already unstable feet.

Kensi has always done her best to keep herself from counting on things. Life has taught her that people cannot be trusted, that all conditions, including happiness, are temporary.

Despite her best efforts, there are two things she has come to count on.

One: Hetty knows all and can manipulate all.

Two: Deeks is always going to be there, to be hers. He's always going to be willing to wait.

In the space of one very rough day, all of that is suddenly shaken.

Even before Sam and Callen disappeared under the deep blue sea, Hetty's brusque rebuff, her subsequent mysterious departure, and Granger's ominous words already had her agitated. She hates the way that she's thrown off her game more easily these days. Since Afghanistan things seem to hit her harder. Still, for the most part she's been able to hide her instability and throw herself back into her job.

And then a beautiful brunette DEA agent showed up, smiling proprietarily at her partner.

At the end of the day, she is left shaken. None of the things that she was certain of seem so certain anymore, and she's desperate to get her feet back on solid ground, to know what is real and dependable in her shifting world.

She's not used to being uncertain. She's built her life around being strong, being unshakeable, until suddenly she's not anymore.

Death and danger are standard in their lives, but it still shakes her to see Callen and Sam, her invincible mentors, come so close to not coming home. It's been long enough since either of them have had a really close call that she had found herself lulled into a false sense of security on their behalf.

By the end of the day, many things have settled back into their places. Sam and Callen are safe and sound, cherishing the fresh air. Key members of the cartel are behind bars. Talia has gone back to whatever hole she crawled out of, for now at least.

But Hetty's still gone, and there's still a strange feeling of uncertainty when she looks at Deeks.

* * *

It's only the fact that he had awkwardly backpedaled every time Talia said anything a little too suggestive that gives her the courage to show up at his door that night, seeking answers.

When he opens the door, he's in sweats and Monty's face peeks through from behind his left knee. He looks comfortable and rumpled and huggable, and _just when on earth did Kensi Blye start thinking of people as huggable? _ Suddenly, all she wants is to be curled in the circle of those arms on the couch. She's pretty sure they'd help stead the shifting of the ground beneath her—except at the moment he's still the source of some of the quaking.

When she stares at him blankly for a minute, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and reaches out.

"Kens? Do you want to come in?"

She doesn't know where to start, so the words that tumble out of her mouth are plucked from the middle of her thoughts and, to him, they seem to come out of nowhere.

"She doesn't get you. She can have anything else she wants, as long as she doesn't get you."

For a moment he is genuinely confused. There is an ocean of vulnerability in her eyes, and it's disconcerting for him to see his badass partner so off-balance.

"Who doesn't get me? Talia?"

"Of course, Talia. Was there someone else today that was one step away from wrapping herself around you and using you for a stripper pole?"

He chuckles quietly and raises one eyebrow at that mental image, and then tilts his head and smiles softly down at her. He likes this jealous, possessive side of her, but he doesn't like seeing her so unsettled, so he speaks carefully.

"Do you know what she said to me while you were in the bathroom?"

She scoffs, and he sees a bit of his Kensi in amidst the uncertainty again.

"Do I want to know?"

"She told me I was 'clearly madly in love with my partner.' Call me crazy, but I don't think any woman really wants a man who she can see is clearly madly in love with someone else."

His blue eyes have gone soft as he tilts his head and leans in to look in her eyes, waiting for her reaction.

She takes a moment to absorb this, to process the fact that this woman who had thrown her so out of kilter had herself noted the one thing that could keep Kensi in balance.

The world begins to settle.

"So I get you?"

Can it really be that simple?

"Do you _want_ me? Cuz we haven't really talked about any of this Kens. We started to and then you were shipped off to Afghanistan and we couldn't really talk, and then there was Jack back again and the capture and I was trying not to push. And then there was Angelo and I couldn't put you in more danger because of me. I haven't been sure where we stood for months, Kens. I didn't' event know what _I _wanted for a while; I have no idea what you want anymore."

She sees fear in his eyes and suddenly understands where it comes from. They are different by nature. The same situations cause them to react in opposite ways. Once the realization strikes her, she feels stupid for not having seen it sooner. They are opposite in so many ways, how had she missed this one?

When something strikes a little too close to something she loves, she draws it closer, her instinct is to fight for it and protect it and bind it even more solidly to herself. It's when things are threatened that she finds herself most willing to invest in them.

His nature is different; whether it's a legacy of his father or just his deeply self-deprecating nature, he does the opposite. He assumes that he is the reason for the danger, and he separates himself from what he loves in order to protect it.

It happened with Angelo, with Sidarov, with countless other situations.

The moments that make her pull closer are the same ones that make him push away. She's done with that. She's done with allowing enough space between them for the pull and push to cause a divide. She's holding on. He can push all he wants, but she'll be holding him to close for him to get any leverage.

"Yes. I want you. Do I get you?"

It starts out strong and confident, but the end turns soft and hesitant and she almost doesn't recognize the voice as her own.

The heavy breath that comes from his lungs is followed by a gentle hand coming up to cup her cheek and force her eyes to meet his.

"You've always _had_ me."

A smile splits her face and she suddenly feels almost shy.

"And you've always had me; it just took a while for me to admit it."

And then she's secured in the circle of those arms, and the earth begins to settle back into place.

Maybe Hetty will be back, maybe she won't. Afghanistan and Jack will need to be dealt with. Things will continue to shift and shudder for a while as they settle back into place, but she can already feel the foundation under her feet again. His chest is solid and warm under her cheek and his arms are steady and firm around her, and that's enough to set her world back on its axis.

* * *

_AN2: I often struggle with writing Kensi's POV, but when I watched Deep Trouble for the second time, she struck me as being very clearly unsettled by all the things that were going on, and not just with Deeks. I think it's safe to say that she's still dealing with the Afghanistan arc more than we've see on the show, and that's contributing to her vulnerability in general. I'd love to hear your perspective on how you saw her in that episode as well as what you thought of her in this story. _


	5. Crumble

_AN: I've been following __**Hermies818**__'s "The Glory of Love" collection for the past couple of months, and chapter 16 "Lose a Little" stuck with me and refused to get out of my head. She's graciously agreed to let me post my version of a follow-up to that piece. The ideas and inspiration of this piece are hers, and you should definitely check out "The Glory of Love" for yourself. _

_This one-shot follows immediately after the end of chapter 16 "Lose a Little/Kensi and Deeks Fight." If you haven't read that one, I suggest you do so before reading this._

* * *

"_What needs to happen so we can just move past this?" _

_From their opposing sides of the bed, Kensi and Deeks just stared at each other, no movement, no words, for what felt like years. The bed in between them might just as well have been the Pacific Ocean. The unspoken answer to her question hung heavy in the air, like some invisible beast that would destroy them at the first sign of movement. In every war, no matter how large or how small, there were always casualties. Always. (from "The Glory of Love," Chapter 16, by Hermies818)_

* * *

"I don't think I can, Kensi." His voice has gone quiet, and he almost has to force the gravelly reply out of his mouth. The use of her full name shakes her almost as much as the words he speaks.

"You don't think you can _what_?" She knows what he means, but she refuses to believe it.

"You said _no_, Kens—" _there, _there's her nickname, and it makes her breathe a little easier for a second—until the next words come. "I don't think I can just get past that. I wanted to marry you and you said no. And you seem to be able to just forget that and move on, but I can't."

The chasm that is the bed between them only seems to be getting wider as he speaks.

"I've tried, Kensi. You know I've tried to just move past it and let it go." His broken voice is terrifying her, but she can't find the breath to stop him.

"I love you. I love you so much." They are familiar words, but his tone is foreign to her. They're usually spoken warmly, occasionally frantically, sometimes softly. Today, the only emotions she identifies in them are pain and resignation, and it chills her. "And I thought it could be enough even if you didn't love me as much as I loved you. I thought as long as you were mine, it would be enough.

"But every time something like this happens, my brain reminds me that you're _not_ really mine. It tells me that of course I'm not enough to keep someone like you forever. And I know you don't believe in it, but part of me thinks that if _I_ was enough, I could make you believe in it, for _me_. It tells me that even if you think you love me now, subconsciously the reason you can't decide to marry me is because you know that sooner or later someone better is going to come along.

"I want to put a ring on your finger and promise you forever and know that I'm going to wake up next to you for the rest of our lives, and I can't just stop wanting that."

"If you loved me, you would just let it go." She wants to eat her words the moment they escape from her mouth. She's sworn she'd never be one of those women who manipulated her man with _if you loved me_ statements.

"Or maybe, if you loved _me_, you would understand why I can't."

She's aching to touch him, to ease the tension she sees frozen in his muscles as he stiffly turns to go. All the remaining anger morphs into fear as she waits for the slamming of the door, but somehow the soft click of it gently closing is far worse.

She waits for hours for him to return, but he doesn't.

* * *

The ring is in his nightstand drawer. She knows that because she had watched him put it there that fateful night after she told him no, when she was doing her best to pretend she didn't see how shaken he was. And she's watched him avoid that drawer ever since.

She's never opened it, but tonight she does. She pulls the little blue box out of its hiding place and stares at the diamond ring it holds.

She's worn one before, albeit a very different one. She's spent the years ever since then convincing herself that that part of the dream was dead, that she didn't believe in weddings and marriage. But he wants the promise written down, recorded on paper. He needs the weight of the ring on his finger and the sight of the diamond on hers as tangible reminders when the doubt eats at him.

For years, she's believed that if she never made that promise again then the future that came with it could never be ripped away again. It didn't matter though, in the end, because she's been planning for a lifetime with him just the same, vows or no vows, and that future is falling away anyway.

The thing is, she has the power to assuage his fears and crush her own at the same time. She just hasn't been brave enough to do it. She'd convinced herself that they were fine as they are. They didn't need a ring or a promise or a ceremony to make them _more_.

But she's known for weeks that they haven't been quite right. As hard as he has tried to move on like she asked him to, she has seen it eating at him and has chosen to ignore it. But it's going to continue eating away at their relationship, at the very core of who they are, until something crumbles. And if it crumbles, then all of her fears come true all the same.

* * *

He checks into a hotel and turns the TV on to try and drown out his thoughts, but it doesn't work.

He just left. He doesn't know if he's going back.

His whole world is wrapped up in _Kensi_ and he can't even wish it any other way. He only wishes that it didn't come down to this decision.

He could go back. He could go back and she'd probably let him in, and they would go back to pretending that everything was fine. Maybe everything really was fine for Kensi, but it would always be pretending for him.

She makes him want _more_. He wants to not have to pretend.

He lays there for hours trying to change his own mind, but he can't. He wants more and she's made her position clear. He can't resign himself spending his life faking it with the woman he loves.

The fact that the alternative is _not _being with the woman he loves rips his heart to shreds. But he knows he'll only be able to fake it for so long, and eventually that unresolved issue and unmet need will corrode their relationship and his heart and it'll end up crumbling, and they'll be left in pieces all over again. It'll sneak into every argument and every late night, every question, fear, and doubt, and eventually it will destroy her faith in him and his in her.

Surely it's better to better to face it now, when maybe they can both still get out with at least some part of their hearts intact.

* * *

He's at the beach at first light, unable to sleep in the unfamiliar empty bed with all the thoughts of his suddenly murky future swirling in his head. He has to rent a board and wetsuit because his are back at the apartment where his things and her things are all mixed up with _their _things and he tries not to think yet about the painful process of detangling their lives from one another's.

She's there in the early morning light when his feet hit the sand after his third unsatisfactory run. She silently watches him approach and there is a long moment of tense quiet before he speaks.

"I'm sorry, Kens. I can't do it anymore. I tried, but I can't. We want different things. We _need_ different things; I can't give you what you need." There is a moment of silent shock, and then he whispers "goodbye." He leans in to kiss her softly on the forehead, carefully keeping the rest of his body away from hers. As soon as he tears his lips from her skin, he turns and moves quickly away, hoping to make it to somewhere private before the iron fist around his stomach and his heart brings him to his knees.

"Deeks, wait." She grabs his hand as he turns to go, and it's the first time that her simple touch has left shards of pain instead of sparks of wonder.

"It's true, the ring terrifies me, and I've convinced myself for years that that piece of paper doesn't mean anything to me.

"I've done this before and I failed. I've worn the ring and made the plans and then had it all fall apart. And I have this irrational fear that the universe is just waiting for me to take that leap again so it can tear it all apart again… like as long as we didn't label it, I didn't have to be afraid of losing it.

"But there is one thing I know; I want to spend the rest of my life with you and only you. I don't need a ring and a piece of paper to know that, and I don't think you do either. But I'm not afraid of it, either. Not with you. I choose to not be afraid, because I believe in you, and I believe in us."

She takes a deep breath as she reaches for the small box in her purse.

"Marry me, Deeks?"

"What?" He chokes out, astonished and unbelieving.

"Marry me. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I want you, forever. Marry me. Today, if you want. We can go knock down the door at the courthouse as soon as it opens in…" she looks down to check her watch "… two and a half hours. Just say you still want to marry me."

The grip around his heart releases, and he feels like he breathes freely for the first time in weeks.

"Yes. Of course, yes."

Snatching the ring from its box, he slides it on her finger before pulling her tight into his arms, holding on for dear life as she does the same. He's probably imagining it, but he thinks he can feel the cool band of the ring on her hand as her fingers press into his back.

They hold each other for long moments in the cool of the morning air. When they finally pull back, he takes her left hand and runs his thumb repeatedly over the glinting diamond. Smiling freely, he furrows his brow.

"Since you're the one proposing this time, shouldn't I be the one getting a ring?"

* * *

_AN: I really didn't want this to come across as Deeks being passive aggressive about getting Kensi to marry him—that's not how I envisioned it at all. I can only imagine the turmoil it causes for a man to work up the courage to ask a woman to marry him and be turned down… and then stay with her and be expected to forget about it. Especially for a man like Deeks, with his background and personality, I feel like being asked to live with that would eventually become unbearable and unhealthy both for the relationship and the people in it. _


	6. Sharing

They're heading back to the car after picking up lunch for everyone when he finds the opportunity to bring up the thing that has been bothering him all morning.

"Would you, uh, would you like to explain to me why exactly MY mouthguard was in YOUR mouth this morning?"

She stops walking to give him a sardonic glare.

"Don't be such a baby. Just wash it."

"I can't just wash it! Your spit has been all over it. Your germs are, like, embedded in it now."

She turns and raises her eyebrows at him pointedly.

"I'm the one who had your mouthguard in my mouth. I'm the one that should be complaining about germs."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he tilts his head down at her and quirks his eyebrows.

"Really?! You know how I feel about germs. Just because you don't care doesn't mean I can just ignore the fact that your saliva was all over something that's supposed to go exclusively in MY mouth! There's like seventy kinds of bacteria that live in your spit. Seventy, Kensi!"

She drops her armload of take-out containers in the back seat and turns to lean on the car and face him; her expression turns coy.

"You were not at all concerned about my saliva this morning. Pretty sure you already had whatever germs I have_ long_ before I used your mouthguard."

"It's not the same thing!" He pouts.

"How is it not the same thing?! You're telling me that you think your tongue in my mouth somehow does not transfer germs, but me using your mouthguard does?"

He pauses at that, not because he's ready to give up the argument but because his brain has suddenly switched tracks and instead of thinking of his next comeback he's now thinking of kissing Kensi. His brain tends to get stuck there.

They spent the early morning on the beach this morning, him surfing until the appeal of spending a few minutes wrapped around Kensi before work drew him away from the water and back onto the sand. He likes being wrapped around Kensi in any form, whether it's on the sand, the couch, or the wrestling mat. Lately, holding Kensi frequently progresses into kissing Kensi, a development that he's a huge fan of. That had been the case on the beach this morning, though not on the wrestling mat, unfortunately.

She breaks into his reverie with the answer to his original question:

"I accidentally grabbed your bag out of the car this morning instead of mine—which you would have known if you had even bothered to think about wearing your own mouthguard. All my other stuff was in my locker, so I didn't bother to go hunting down my bag for just that."

Ok, that he understands. Their go-bags are essentially identical until they're opened; then it becomes kind of obvious whose is whose. He definitely doesn't wear pink spandex tank tops, but he certainly doesn't complain about Kensi wearing them.

"But why couldn't you just tell me when we came out so we could trade them?" He whines, even though he's already been completely talked out of being upset.

She raises those eyebrows at him again, and he sheepishly remembers hiding behind the women's locker room door and ambushing her as she came out. Barreling into her, he'd swept her over his shoulder and charged headlong for the mat, dumping her unceremoniously on it while she was still catching her bearings. He figures he's lucky he hadn't incurred any real physical damage from that stroke of brilliance.

"There is no difference between this," she says, drawing close and pulling his head down for a brief but very thorough kiss, "and us swapping mouthguards."

Other than a slight breathiness in her voice, she continues speaking as if unaffected, but Kensi's kisses tend to leave him in a bit of a fog so he doesn't respond immediately.

"I'll buy you a new one if you're really so upset about it," she offers while his eyes are still blinking back into focus.

In response, he just draws her back to him and kisses her again.

"Nevermind," he breathes when he pulls away slightly but keeps her trapped between his body and the car. "I've decided I kinda like your germs."

* * *

_AN: I watched this week's episode and, while it seems that everybody else latched onto Kensi demanding Deeks give up his shirt, it was that first wrestling scene that really stuck with me. Probably AU since it doesn't look like Kensi and Deeks have necessarily sorted things out yet, but we'll see I guess._

_I'm discovering that I tend to swing back and forth between utter fluff like this piece, "If Asked" and "Of Cigars and Celebration" and angst like "In Due Time," "Crumble" and "Enough." Not really sure why that is. I'm a woman—that means I can blame the mood swings on hormones, right?_


	7. Everyday Intimacies

"Why don't you leave it down?"

His request sounds a little bit timid as his voice carries from the doorway to where she stands at the bathroom sink, preparing to pull up her hair for the day.

Giving him a silent questioning look, she puts the pins and elastics down and reaches for the straightener instead.

"I like it curly like that, " he interrupts again, a little bolder this time, as she's flipping the straightener on. There's clearly an unspoken request in the statement, and she cocks her head and sends him a questioning look.

Even on days when she leaves her hair down, it usually gets at least blow drying treatment to loosen the curls into more manageable waves, but right now it's wild and curly and untouched. She puts down the straightener and looks at him.

"Oookay..."

It's been a long time since she's had anyone who wanted to have an input on how she did her hair in the morning, and she's not quite sure how she feels about it. It's a very _boyfriend_ thing to request. But then, they've been falling asleep together and waking up together, spending all their days and all their nights and eating all their meals together for weeks, which are, she has to admit, also very _boyfriend_ things to do. Somehow this seems even more intimate though, and the way his eyes are softening as she reaches for the mousse to tame the flyaways doesn't do anything to alter that impression.

He clears his throat as she reaches up to pull the top back away from her face and she turns on him, wondering what on earth he could want this time.

"Can, uh, can I do it?"

Now that she was not expecting.

"You want to do my hair?" Her eyes blink uncomprehendingly.

"Well, yeah. Can I try it?"

Once in a while, she recalls, when they're slumped on the couch late at night, his hands find their way to her hair and comb through it gently, over and over again, smoothing and stroking and playing. She's never told him that she likes it, but she's never told him to stop either, so chances are he knows full well. It's never occurred to her just how much _he_ likes it.

"Did you want to be a hairdresser when you were a kid, or something?" She teases gently as she meets his eyes in the mirror.

"No, I just...I like your hair."

Wordlessly, she hands him the wide-toothed comb and the elastic over one shoulder and waits.

His larger fingers are a little bit clumsy and they tangle in the wild dark curls as he tries to separate the strands from one another and smooth them back. It's an odd sensation, having his rough fingers carding through her hair at the bathroom sink in the morning. It's both everyday and intimate, and it makes her wonder just how deep they're getting into this thing that they still never really talk about.

Suddenly, her mind pictures those same rough hands gently combing through the curly hair of a little blond girl as he pulls it back for school. There's no question who that little girl belongs to.

She has to clear her throat to offer a hint here and there on how to control the hair, and in the end it takes him ten times as long to do it as it would have taken her, and there are a few extra bumps she would have smoothed out, but when he steps back and surveys his work, he looks so proud and his eyes are so warm that she can't bring herself to comment on it.

At first it was only on the couch that they allowed this kind of closeness—like it was a little island and the things that happened there weren't really part of the real world. This morning she woke up tucked into his chest while he snored in her ear, and when they opened their eyes and moved to start the day, neither had found it awkward to untangle from the other as they got up.

Gradually, more and more pieces of their apartments have become part of that island. One day the whole living room became a contact zone. Another day, subtle touches in the kitchen while they grabbed breakfast suddenly became okay. Today, apparently, the bathroom became a shared space.

Once he rinses the hair products off his hands, he reaches for his toothbrush—at home in the cup, next to hers—and brushes his teeth in the mirror behind her as she's finishing her makeup.

One day soon they're going to have to start really talking about this, but for now this quiet intimacy that's growing between them feels comfortable and right. She's only just beginning to feel like herself again after Afghanistan, and their constant togetherness, whatever the label on it, has a lot to do with that. She suspects he as his own reasons for sticking close by. Regardless, whether he's partner, friend, or boyfriend, he's her solid ground in a shifting world, and she's his tether when he's afraid of losing himself.

For today, that's enough.

* * *

_A/N: Just a little snippet of a moment. Kensi's hair was down and curly in yesterday's ep (6x04), and my brain automatically jumped to the conclusion that Deeks had something to do with that. I'm always a little surprised how fascinated guys can be by women's hair..._

_Reviews make me want to write more._


	8. Outside Help

"Can I buy you a—" he cuts himself off midsentence even as he plops himself onto the stool next to hers.

Kensi's sitting on a barstool at their favorite bar, waiting for their drinks and the rest of the team to arrive for their customary post-case decompression. She raises her eyebrows at Special Agent Matthew Flynn as he sits and smiles sheepishly.

It's a weeknight, so the bar is not overly crowded or noisy, and it's filled with familiar faces. They know and are known here, not as regulars, exactly—they're too cautious for that—but as familiar faces and familiar orders. Sam has his favorite corner booth, so she knows exactly where to watch for their arrival. The bartender is giving Flynn a sympathetic look; he knows this scenario. There are variations on the theme, but they all end pretty much the same way.

"I was going to ask if I could buy you a drink, but I see that there's someone who would probably object to that." Flynn nods at the pair of rings on her left hand and she smiles and nods as she runs her thumb over them, spinning them around her finger.

"You weren't wearing those earlier."

He's been working with them on a case for the last three days and has been subtly testing the waters of flirting with her for the past twenty-four hours. In a profession that tends to harden people or make them unbearably cocky, he's been a breath of refreshing sincerity, and even his flirting has a polite, deferential quality that speaks well of him. They all genuinely like him, and she actually feels a little sorry for his disappointment.

"We've been in and out of covers for days. Hetty keeps them safe for us so they don't get misplaced in all the transitions when that happens." She explains.

"We?" He's a little confused until a blonde head appears close behind her just as two drinks are placed on the counter in front of her.

She seems to telepathically sense his arrival and smiles as she tips her head back to indicate the man behind her. "My husband, Marty Deeks."

"Flynn," Deeks nods in acknowledgment.

"Ah," Flynn nods "so you really were flirting earlier." He's been keeping his eyes open this last couple days, ever since he decided testing the waters with Kensi might be worth the risk, and he hadn't been quite able to figure them out. The case has kept them all busy enough and with Kensi and Deeks in and out of covers the whole time, for someone who hadn't known them before it had been difficult to distinguish what was cover persona, what was natural partner closeness, and what might be genuine flirting. Now he knows.

"Best of both worlds." Deeks grins as he grabs his drink "I get to flirt with my wife at home _and _at work."

"How did I miss this?" He wonders out loud. He's a little stupefied that he's not only been trying to flirt with some other guy's wife, but that he's been spending hours on end with both of them and never realized they were really a couple.

"Professional line." Deeks, who certainly had not missed Flynn's early attempts at flirting with Kensi, tells him, drawing an imaginary line in the air between them.

"Work is work, home is home," Kensi shrugs. "We try to keep them separate as much as possible. Clearly we're doing pretty well this week. Probably not true of all weeks."

Deeks tips his glass at Flynn, "What are you drinking? First round's on us."

Flynn snorts.

"I was just trying to hit on your wife, and now you're the one buying my drinks? That seems a little... weird."

Deeks laughs. While he can't say he enjoyed watching Flynn "hit on" Kensi, he liked Flynn from the start, and his version of flirtation is so much more respectful than what Deeks is used to having to deal with that it had actually raised his opinion of the man rather than lowered it. He certainly can't fault him for his taste.

"Hey man, I don't blame you. She's kind of awesome. I applaud your good taste, and I assume you will refrain from doing it again now that you know." His voice and his eyes are friendly, but he takes a small step closer to Kensi's back—a clear signal that there would be consequences for ignoring that friendly advice.

"Of course." Flynn nods, grimacing slightly. "Sorry about that."

"You're not going to find one like this girl anywhere," he squeezes Kensi's shoulder affectionately, "but if you're willing to lower your sights a little, I'm sure there are some ladies here tonight who'd be willing to share a drink with you. I'd offer to be your wingman, but since I've had my wings clipped, I'm pretty happy to roost right here." He moves his hand to Kensi's hip as he speaks, just as Kensi's elbow meets his side.

"Wings clipped? Really?" She glares at him.

He grins down at her.

"Come on! Get it? Wingman? Wings? Roost? That was a good one!"

* * *

_AN: I was completely blown away by the review response to that last chapter. You guys are awesome—I was a little hesitant about that one, so thanks for all your reviews and support. I really can't wait to post new things when you guys are so encouraging._

_I have no idea at all where this one came from. It just showed up in my brain as I was writing chapter 7 and wouldn't go away. I'd have had it done and out several days ago, but my computer crashed last week and then my sister got married over the weekend, so between wedding and computerlessness, I haven't gotten to it._

_The fluff is continuing here, but beware, the angst is coming. The next shot is almost finished and it's... well, not as fluffy and fun._


	9. Ritual

This is a circumstance she never considered when he first slipped those rings on her finger on the day they made their forever promises to each other.

She should have thought about it, given the way their world works. She'd thought through a million potential issues and obstacles before she said yes, but this precise aspect of the situation had never entered her mind.

But reality has set in and now they're standing there as the rings make their reverse journey off her finger. His fingers are warm around hers as he slides them off, his grip firm yet gentle as always.

She feels almost naked without them, but it's a feeling she'll have to get used to. She reaches hesitantly for his left hand and slides his narrow gold band off, dropping it next to hers and staring silently at them as they lie there on the desk.

"For the next few hours, you're not you and I'm not me." He says, tilting her chin up and drawing her eyes up to his. "But when this is over, I'm going to put these back where they belong," he pinches her rings between thumb and forefinger and holds them before her eyes, much like he had on the night he proposed, "and then I'm going to take you home and remind you just how married we really are." His grin is suggestive and impudent and it goes a long way toward releasing the knot of tension in her stomach.

It's the first time since their wedding months earlier that going under for a case has required them to remove their rings, and she finds it shockingly hard to take them off. It's not supposed to be this hard, but she's so in love with life as Kensi Deeks that going under as someone else is harder than it's ever been. Still, they'll do it, and they'll do it well—because this is their job and because they have a life to get back to when it's all over.

* * *

For years, that is their ritual. Every time a case requires one or both of them to remove their rings, they find a quiet corner and slip them off together. Whenever it's possible, he is the one who takes hers off, his eyes telling her the whole time that he might be taking the rings off, but he's not removing his love or support.

She does the same for him.

When it's all over, he'll be the one to slide them on again. Sometimes he playfully recites his vows again as he does it, commenting cheekily that he feels like he gets to marry her all over again each time. Sometimes he does it silently, promising with his eyes that his promises are still as true as they were the first time he slid them on her finger. He must have recited those vows a hundred times over the years. She comes to love that little ritual, loves to watch him slip the rings back where they belong at the end of a long day.

Until one day he doesn't.

She returns to the mission in a daze, eyes red-rimmed but dry for the moment. Sam and Callen are watching her carefully, tenderly, trying to figure out just what on earth to say and how to let her know they're there for her. Their gentle looks just make it worse. She avoids Nell, who will be caring and sympathetic and won't know how to deal with it either.

The only things she can think of are sitting in Hetty's desk safe. That's where she heads first, the walls closing in around her and sucking the air from her lungs as she moves. Hetty meets her halfway.

"Hetty, I need—"

Before she can work up the strength to finish the sentence, Hetty is pressing three gold bands into her trembling hand. As soon as the cool metal touches her palm, she whirls to escape.

"Ms. Blye—" She hears behind her, but she ignores it and keeps walking. For years she's kept that name at work, but at the moment she's not Ms. Blye, Special Agent. She's not sure she ever will be that again. Right now, all she is is Mrs. Deeks, brand new widow. It feels like that's all she'll ever be again.

She drives, all but unseeing, for an hour, then two, then three, one hand on the wheel and one wrapped around the three small circlets. After an hour of her death grip on them, they start to cut painfully into her palm, but she ignores the discomfort and holds on tighter. After two, Nell calls and she silences the ringing of the phone and then shuts it off altogether.

After three, she winds up at the beach staring down at three gold rings in her reddened palm. She still feels naked without them, even more so now after years of wearing them than she had that first time he slipped them off.

Grasping the two that have lived on her hand for half a decade now, she moves them toward her finger, longing to have the comfortably familiar weight of them on her hand again. But before they touch her finger, she draws back and grips them hard. Once, early on before she realized a tradition had been established, she had put them back on herself before he found her to do it, and had been surprised to see the depth of the disappointment in his eyes when he discovered that she hadn't left it for him. Since then, she's always waited for him to do it.

This time, the wait would be endless.

Unable to stomach the idea of putting them back on herself, she slips his plain band on her thumb instead.

From the corner of her eye she watches a blond surfer ride a wave in, and her grief-stricken mind snaps to attention. She feels a flare of hope, imagining that it's really a normal weekend and they're at the beach and it's him riding in toward her. When the man lands and his hair is too short and his smile isn't right, grief hits her in the kidneys all over again as the hope dies out.

She turns and moves quickly away, hoping to make it to somewhere private before the iron fist around her stomach and her heart brings her to her knees.

She makes it around a corner behind an outcropping of rock before her knees give out and she hits the ground. Every system in her body physically revolts alongside her heart and she loses her breakfast on the sand as she goes down, shivering uncontrollably.

The grief is a physical thing, pressing down on her and twisting her lungs until she can't breathe, sapping the strength from her muscles.

She can't bear the thought of going home, back to the house where they'd built a life, a love, a million memories. He'll be everywhere there and yet he'll never be there again, and she can't comprehend that dichotomy, let alone survive in the midst of it.

She's not sure how long she's sat there when the first cool wind of the night bites into her bare skin.

Slowly, a new awareness brings the steel back into her spine.

He's not coming back, but she can still do one last thing for him.

Justice was the only thing she knew before him, and it's all she has left now. There's still an open case, a man to be hunted down and punished for ripping her life apart.

* * *

Her back is ramrod straight as she enters the mission again, sharply focused this time, in stark contrast to her earlier visit.

"Ms. Blye—" Hetty tries again as she enters the briefing room unannounced.

"Mrs. Deeks." She corrects her, face resolute. "My name is Kensi Deeks, and I want the man who killed my husband."

* * *

_AN: Sorry about that. It just kind of grew out of the rings in Chapter 8 and the beach scene in Chapter 5 (brownie points if you can identify the sentence that's duplicated from Chapter 5 without going back to look). _

_This collection hit 100 reviews today- wow! Thanks so much for all your thoughts and reviews and messages.  
_

_I'm out of ideas at the moment—if you have suggestions, I'm open to hearing them. _


	10. Choices

This isn't exactly going as planned.

He's kneeling in the sand, diamond in his palm, staring up at his dark-eyed partner, and her silence is twisting his guts into a seething mass of knots.

He had thought all this out so thoroughly, but now he's wondering if he'd chosen wrong. They aren't a fancy dinner and dancing kind of couple. They aren't grand gestures or public displays. They aren't romantic music and candlelight. There is a place for all those things, but when he asked her to spend her life with him he wanted to do it in a way that fit with the way they really lived their life.

So, they're in running clothes on the beach, three miles into a five mile run, the first rays of the sun are coming up over the boardwalk beside them and glinting blue and gold off the rolling waves of the Pacific, because he wants his morning runs to be by her side for the rest of their lives. He bought special running shorts for this—ones with zippers on the pockets so that there's no way that obscenely expensive and ridiculously tiny piece of bling could bounce out in the sand in the three miles between his apartment and the place where he's nervously kneeling. He just dropped a large chunk of his savings on the thing, so he figures another forty dollars in order to make sure it actually arrives at its destination is a good investment.

Except that both those purchases will be worthless if the _yes_ he's hoping for doesn't come out of her mouth soon. When he first knelt down, the racing of his heart had been at least partially due to the competitive pace of their run. Now, he's pretty sure it has more to do with nerves than exertion. It's been several long, agonizing moments, and she still hasn't said anything.

When she finally does speak, it's weak and breathy and almost doesn't even sound like her.

"If we do this, Hetty will know. She'll separate us."

He breathes a sigh of relief—while he still would have preferred an immediate yes, this is a hesitation that he'd thought through thoroughly and has an answer for. She's not hesitating to marry him, she's just weighing what marrying him might cost both of them. That's something he had expected and prepared for.

He can't decide if the situation is hard because they might have to choose between two good choices or because they might have to choose between two bad ones, but it's made even harder by the fact that they don't even know if they're going to be asked to make any choice at all. At this point, it's all hypothetical.

One the good side, he can choose Kensi as his partner or Kensi as his wife. They're both great choices. They're both options he would be thrilled at if it weren't for that pesky _or_ in between them. He'd never considered before that choosing between two good options could be even harder than choosing between two bad ones.

On the bad side, he can lose Kensi as his partner or lose Kensi as his wife. Both those options are bad, both things he hopes to avoid. But, when he looks at it that way, it's actually an easier decision.

He reaches for her hands and wraps them in his but stays on his knees.

"I know there may come a time when we have to make a choice. But I also know that I want you as my wife more than I want you as my partner."

Right up until the moment when he first held her ring in his hand, he hadn't been entirely sure that he could make that choice—he loves Partner Kensi, but the moment that Wife Kensi had become not just a nebulous future possibility but a concrete immediate intention, he had known what the answer was.

He wants her as his wife, even if it means he can't keep her as his partner.

"Listen to me, Kens."

She's staring down at their hands, conflicted emotions written all over her face. There's no way she hadn't considered all this before. They've talked about it before, but she has yet to have the revelatory moment that he had when he touched her ring for the first time and _knew_.

They've been a secret—officially, anyway—for over a year. Everyone outside their inner circle assumed they were a couple long before they actually were, which actually made it easier when they became a couple for real and wanted to keep it to themselves. People had been reading secrets into their relationship for so long that when there actually was a secret, it didn't take much to keep people thinking that it was still their imaginations. Deeks is pretty sure that Callen and Sam and Nell knew they were head over heels for each other long before they were willing to admit it, and if they've figured out that their relationship has changed, they've graciously allowed them their secret. As for Eric, well, social aptitude had never been his strong suit.

But, he thinks, they're past the point of secrets now. He wants Kensi for his wife, and he wants his friends to know and to be there to celebrate with them, even if it means opening themselves up to the possibility that Hetty might separate them in the field.

He can reconcile himself to someone else watching her back. It won't be the same, but he trusts Callen and Sam and he could happily grow to accept someone else being the one to call her partner if it means he gets to be the one to call her _wife_.

What he can't even begin to reconcile himself to is the possibility of someone else being the one to wake up next to her in the morning, someone else being the father of her children, someone else holding her hand and touching her skin and taking her out for date nights.

This is it. _She_ is it. And sometimes getting the best out of life means sacrificing what is good to make room for the best.

"Just hear me out, Kens. Think about it. I want to be your partner. It's still totally possible that Hetty will leave us together even once she officially knows."

He grins up at her with a little more levity and confidence then he actually feels at the moment.

"It's Hetty—you know that she knows everything anyway. She probably knew before we did, and she hasn't separated us yet.

"I want to be your partner," he repeats, adjusting his grip on her hands. "But I'm not willing to sacrifice the future in order to hold onto the present. We're not going to be partners forever. That's a fact of life. You know that—it just doesn't happen in our business. Things change, agencies change, teams change. They could change at the drop of a hat for some other reason entirely. We could get one more year or five or fifteen, but one day we're going to be doing something else or be paired with someone else.

"This," he holds the ring up in front of her again, "this is forever. This is you and me and the next fifty years and a life that no one else can take away from us."

There in an interminable wait when he finishes speaking before she has gathered her thoughts enough to respond. He waits, heart racing, hoping that she's come to the same conclusion that he did.

"I think," she starts, and her face is solemn and gives nothing away, "that I would like to keep you as my partner."

His heart begins to burrow down to hide somewhere in the vicinity of his intestines. He'd been so convinced that this was right, that they were ready, and now he doesn't know how they'll move on from it.

He becomes aware that he's muttering, but he's not quite sure exactly what he's saying, or if he's really saying anything at all.

"Okay... that's... okay... we can just... that's—"

Her hand comes down to lift his eyes from the sand back to meet hers.

"But," she stresses, allowing a smile to break through, "if it comes down to it, I would rather have you as my husband."

The world that had been crumbling around him is suddenly whole and bright again and a grin splits his face

"Really?"

Her answer is in her smile and in her hands on his face as they draw him to his feet and up to meet her lips, but she whispers it against his lips anyway:

"Really."


	11. Legacy

_AN: This is a follow-up from Chapter 9, _Ritual_; consider yourself warned. That said, this is a little bit happier than the original._

* * *

The bathroom floor is cold, but it's become rather familiar over the last few months. First, there were the hiding days. The first weeks when she spent large chunks of time sitting there escaping from her mother and her friends who were constantly "checking in" and "visiting" and "helping out." Sometimes she did it under the guise of showering. Sometimes she just locked herself in to escape from being forced to interact with the well-meaning people that came to stay with her and babysit her for the first few weeks when all she wanted was to crawl into a hole and pretend that her life had ceased going on because his had.

Then came the teary days. The day she discovered yesterday's clothes on the bathroom floor because Deeks hadn't been in to pick them up after her. The day she knocked his favorite shampoo off the ledge and the bottle broke on the floor, spreading the scent so uniquely him through their bathroom for the first time in weeks and overwhelming her. The day she checked under the sink for an extra bottle of body wash and automatically made a mental note to add his to the shopping list, too, before she remembered that his was gone for a reason.

Then, sometimes, there were the quiet days. Days when she would come home from work and discover that the emptiness of the house made it feel enormous, and somehow the confined space of the bathroom made it feel just a little less empty.

Lately, there have been sick days: days when what little she's eaten decides to not stay down and the smell of something that never bothered her before suddenly overwhelms her.

The first missed period she hadn't even noticed in all the turmoil of that first devastating month. Those weeks it had been all she could do to force enough food, water, and air into her body to continue the hunt for justice. Anything beyond that had never entered her radar.

The second missed period she had blamed on the stress and the grief and her admittedly poor eating and sleeping habits recently. When justice was finally served it didn't bring her appetite back, all it did was leave room for the grief to roll back in, full force without the buffer of vengeance to check it.

Her calendar just reminded her that she's now into three missed periods and, despite the fact that she finds food difficult to get down on the best of days, both her bras and her jeans have been feeling tight.

By now the signs are too many and too obvious for her to keep pretending that she doesn't know what they mean.

This time, sitting on the bathroom floor alone, it's a discovery day. She's staring at a little white stick and a little blue plus sign trying to figure out if she's excited or devastated and wondering just how she's going to raise a baby who will never know his father.

* * *

She waits to tell the others until it just can't be put off any longer. Every time she thinks about it, she sees Deeks bouncing off the walls as he figures out the perfect way to tell their friends; she sees that delighted grin and expectant expression that she knows would have accompanied all his thoughts about the baby. By the time she finally quietly admits it to the others, most of them have guessed already.

She tells her belly as it grows "Daddy loves you" because she knows it's true, even if Daddy never knew it existed.

The pregnancy is a blessing and a curse. Every moment, every change, every appointment she goes to alone or with Nell is a reminder that the man who should be beside her, rejoicing with her, reveling in the growth of their baby and the changes in her body, is never going to know his son. Despite Callen and Sam and Nell and everyone else rallying around her, the pregnancy is often a reminder of just how alone she is now. She's never felt quite so lonely, even in the days right after Deeks' death, as she does in the moments when the baby kicks or she hears his heartbeat or the contractions hit and there's no one there to share it with. Pregnancy mood swings plus fresh grief make for a turbulent, difficult nine months.

Still, in many ways the pregnancy rescues her from her grief and anger. It saves her from herself and reminds her that no matter how alone she feels, she's never really going to be alone again. Deeks left that much of himself with her, inside her. She chokes down food she never feels like eating because this baby deserves to live and thrive and be healthy. She resists the urge to be reckless because there's a little piece of Deeks growing inside her that must be protected at all costs. Gradually, she opens up and starts letting people back into her life, because this little boy deserves more of a family than what she can give him all by herself.

In the end, it's her salvation. By month nine she can't even begin to guess where she would have been without this tiny mutant ninja assassin to live for. She's fairly certain that he has, quite literally, saved her life. Just like his father.

* * *

Twenty-eight years later, Andrew Martin Deeks is still her whole world. Single motherhood has been the hardest, loneliest, most joyous, rewarding adventure of her life. Tall and tan, Andrew has his mother's hair and his father's eyes. He's done three tours with the Navy and now he's home and is making his way through law school. His hair is curling over his ears and he's falling in love with a woman named Leah.

She is more soft and sweet and feminine than Kensi has ever been, but she's got steel in her backbone and fire in her eyes, and Kensi loves her from the moment that Andrew brings her home. Their relationship is less turbulent than Kensi and Deeks' was, but as Kensi watches it grow, she comes to believe that it's the same relentless kind of love, just in softer form.

If there's one way Kensi feels she has succeeded, it's that Andrew is far less broken than his parents were when they finally found each other. He's never had his Dad, but he has heard every story she could remember. He has known every day that he was loved, by his mother, by the father he never knew, and by the makeshift family that has always surrounded him. He has known the troubles and brokenness of the world but also known its joys and its goodness.

When the time comes that Andrew stops in one day to tell his mother that he's going to ask Leah to marry him, she leaves him alone for a few minutes to dig into the back of her top dresser drawer.

When she returns, she is carrying an old velvet box, picking pieces of dust and lint off it as she walks. Softly, she takes his hand and wraps his fingers around the box.

"You don't have to, but if you want them..."

Andrew furrows his brow for a moment, then opens the box.

"These were yours." It's a statement, not a question, though he's never seen those two gold rings inside before in his life.

Months into her journey of grief, after several attempts to put them back on herself, Kensi had finally given up. She slipped her engagement ring and wedding band back in their box and tucked them away and had his band resized to fit her ring finger instead. Those rings were his to put back on, and if he was never there to do it then it was never going to feel right to do it herself.

"You never wore them."

Andrew's statement pulls her from her memories and back to his blue eyes. It's the one story he has never heard.

"No. Not after he was gone." She wanders back in her own thoughts for a moment before smiling softly and telling him the story of that beloved ritual and the day that it ended. She tells him about her struggle to figure out how to live without him and the decision to wear his ring instead of her own.

"If there was one thing in this life that I never doubted, Andrew, it was that your father loved me. He loved me like I wasn't a mess, or maybe like it didn't matter that I was a mess. He loved me like I was his whole world. And he would have loved you the same way the moment he knew you existed.

"I was so jaded when I met him that I didn't believe that kind of love really existed anymore; it took a long time for me to start believing again, but he waited. He'd never had anyone love him like he deserved, but still he loved like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I loved him like crazy. In a world without bad guys, I have no doubt that he'd still be here by my side, loving me and teasing me and driving me crazy. We'd be that crazy old gray haired couple in their rocking chairs always fighting but still falling more in love with each other every day.

"That love is what gave me the strength to get though without him. That's what gave me the strength to raise you.

"I never could wear those without him by my side. But they were a part of a... an extraordinary kind of love story. And he would want you to have them to give to the woman you love, because somehow, even though you never knew him, you know how to love like he did. I want to know that his extraordinary kind of love didn't end with him, that it will have kids and grandkids and will leave a legacy like no one left for him. He wanted that so bad, to be a dad like his never was, to leave a legacy that he could be proud of. I just wish he could be here to see that he succeeded in that. He would be so proud of you. And he would have loved Leah."

* * *

When Andrew and Leah come to dinner, weeks later, with Kensi's engagement ring on Leah's finger, it heals something long broken in Kensi's heart. It doesn't remove that old ache for the man who gave it to her, but it reminds her that the story has not ended, that his love lives on in the heart of his son. It seems right, somehow, that the rings he chose for her will have a place in another love story, a new legacy of his love that will live on long after they're both gone.

* * *

_AN: I really had no plans to continue with _Ritual_ (chapter 9), but __**ittybittyalissa**__ suggested the idea for this one, and it eventually decided it wanted to be written. I apparently have been on a married Densi kick lately, but the next couple that are in the works are set more in the current timeframe of the show. They're both a little stuck at the moment, but reviews tend to inspire me to finish things. :)_


	12. Blue

_AN: And the fluff returns… told ya reviews speed up my muse. This is a tag to last night's episode, "Traitor" (6x09). _

* * *

They're sitting on his couch that night, her toes curled under his thigh, absentmindedly watching late-night TV when she blurts out the question that's been bothering her all day.

"What's your favorite color?"

"What?"

"I want to know what your favorite color is."

"Kens," he lays a gentle hand on her ankle, "is this about earlier?"

"You know all these things about me that even I forgot all about. And I don't know how you do, but somehow you just... know. You always know. And I don't know those things."

He starts to say something, but her pleading expression cuts him off.

"It's not that I don't want to know them. I just—I'm not good at this like you are. It's like you're constantly paying attention and making notes, and I don't know how to be that person. I still want to know all those things about you, but I don't, and I feel like that makes me a bad friend because—"

"Kensi," he cuts her off, rubbing a thumb over the arch of her foot. "It doesn't make you a bad friend. We look at the world differently, that's all. That's not necessarily a bad thing. Besides, I think you know more about me than you think you do. Just because you've never sat down and consciously made a list doesn't mean you don't know things. You're a federal agent, it's in your nature to be paying attention."

They use the word friend, and they mean it, but they mean more than that, too. They've finally reached the point where they acknowledge that they are really more than just friends, and that they're moving toward something real and serious. Still, they haven't put a label on it yet, so friend is the closest word she feels comfortable using. They're the kind of friends that consider occasional snuggling acceptable and don't ever consider dating other people. It's been good and it's been comfortable while their worlds have been settling back into what might be called normal, but she thinks maybe it's time for her to get intentional about helping them take steps forward.

"Thank you. But I can be better. You've never asked me to be, but I can be. Maybe I can't always do it the way you do without even trying, but I can be intentional about it, and maybe sometimes I'll just have to ask outright, like right now. What's your favorite color?"

"Guess."

"Deeks-" she growls at him as he smirks.

"Seriously, guess. I think you know a lot more about me than you think you do, so if you had to guess, what's my favorite color?"

She furrows her brow and squints her eyes, mentally weighing obvious clues against more subtle hints. She looks so serious as she thinks about it that it strikes him as particularly adorable. He particularly adores this woman, and he'd be lying if he said that being the focus of that intent concentration didn't feel good. It doesn't bother him that she can't spout off lists of secret information about him, but it's nice to know that she wants to, that's he's important enough that she feels like she needs to be better at it.

"Blue. Your favorite color is blue, too. The ocean is blue and your favorite surfboard is mostly blue." She starts ticking them off on her fingers as she speaks. "Your toothbrush is blue, and that stupid thing in the kitchen that you're so crazy about is blue, and you wear blue shirts at least twice a week, which is quite a bit when you think about how many other color options there are in the world."

Her face is triumphant and she stabs him in the chest with her finger as she finishes her list.

"See? You do know things about me." She beams at the confirmation that she is right and it makes his heart squeeze. He gets to be the one to make her that happy. It's a heady, extraordinary thought.

"Make a list if you want, Kens. Write it down or tell me all the things you know, but don't worry that I'm sitting here waiting for it. Neither of us are very good at sharing things; if you don't know things it doesn't make it your fault that I haven't shared them."

She looks up at him so softly that he has restrain himself from leaning down to kiss her. Despite the further developments in their "thing," he hasn't kissed her in over a year, and it's starting to get very hard to resist. He snaps himself to attention and a smirk replaces the darkening of his eyes.

"Clearly, I will still have a better list, since I am the one who is the _master _of observation, after all, but I will allow that you could probably come up with—"

His pink cat pillow hits him in the face, full force.

He snatches it up and thwacks it against her shoulder as she tackles him, and they spend a few minutes tumbling around in the at-home, no-holds-barred version of a wrestling match. At the end, Kensi would definitely claim that she won, but it ends with her wedged in beside him on the couch, curled into his side and pressed into his body, so he considers himself the real winner there.

After long minutes of comfortable silence where they tune in to the late night talk show's running ridicule of the latest teen fad movie, he speaks quietly.

"You know I meant what I said earlier, right?"

Her chin lifts from its resting place on his shoulder and her eyes ask him to clarify.

"I love that I get to know those things about you that nobody else knows."

For a moment, her smile is soft like it was earlier, and then it morphs into a devilish grin.

"Yeah, well, I know some things about you, too. Some things that no one else knows."

He growls and fixes her with a pointed glare: "Things you will never, ever share with the guys. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"Well, I don't know—

"Kensi" he says sternly, "tell anyone, and I'll tell the guys about your journal and your magazines and that your favorite color is blue because it's the color of my eyes. "

She blushes but doesn't back down. If anything, she looks more mischievous.

"I might be con—"

This time he does kiss her. He resisted soft Kensi, barely, but this Kensi that's so close to him, eyes sparkling and wicked, challenging and taunting him, is just too much. This is the Kensi that he's in love with; the one who keeps him on his toes and drives him to distraction and then turns around and goes soft and feminine with him. Only with him.

It's just long enough to be more than just a press of their lips, but not long enough that they get carried away. He holds his breath when it ends, wondering if that was the wrong thing to do, but she just blushes and lays her chin back on his shoulder. _Ok_, he thinks. He's allowed to kiss her now. _Ok. Good to know. Good. To. Know. _

It feels like they've come a long way tonight; they've learned a lot: he'll be the repository of her secrets, and she'll be his, and he's allowed to kiss her. All that in one night is unprecedented for them, and it wasn't even hard. He's come to expect that the big moments that move them forward will be emotionally difficult for one or both them. Often, the process has been painful. But, tonight, they're curled together, grinning and light-hearted and for once it doesn't feel like they've had to pay a steep price for their progress.

In their never-ending journey of "one step forward, two steps back," tonight feels like two steps forward.


	13. Say It

"Marty, hey man!"

A voice from just down the beach startles them out of their conversation as they sit on the sand late one Saturday afternoon. The man it comes from is tall and dark, striding toward them with a blonde on his arm. Kensi decides immediately that the hair color is fake, but it's a classy kind of dye job pinned up in a relaxed ponytail, so she reserves judgment for now.

The two men drift into what Kensi calls a "cool man hug" and then slap each other on the back while she and the blonde smile awkwardly at each other.

It takes a few minutes of catching up before Deeks and the tall man—she decides from listening to their conversation that his name must be James—realize that they still need to make introductions.

Kensi finds out that the blonde's name is Amy, wife of James, who is a law school buddy of Deeks'. She smiles politely while James makes the introductions, and then Deeks is grinning madly and tugging her into his side as he introduces her.

"This is Kensi Blye, my fiancée."

She laughs at the way his face lights up as she shakes Amy's hand, and he just keeps a death grip on her hand and grins as they chat amiably for a few minutes until Amy tugs on James' arm and reminds him that they were leaving because they're on a schedule and have a plan to catch.

As they turn to go, Deeks looks down at her out of the corner of his eyes and nudges her shoulder with his.

"Did you hear that?"

She furrows her brow.

"Hear what?"

As a federal agent, she's constantly listening to everyday conversations, looking for hints of anything illegal or even just idiotic. She's pretty good at ferreting out subtle hints that things are really not as they seem, even in innocent interactions. Still, their conversation hadn't struck her as anything other than a couple of old buddies running into each other at the beach.

She thought at first that his wide grin was a result of running into an old friend and good memories, but James didn't strike her as being someone he had been particularly close to. In another moment, he solves that mystery and answers her question at the same time. Cocking his head to the side, his grin widens still more.

"My fiancée. My fiancée, Kensi Blye. That's the first time I've said that out loud."

He's positively beaming. They've been engaged for all of one week and he's right, they haven't had the opportunity to actually introduce themselves as such yet. They've said _we're engaged _and _Deeks proposed _and probably several other variations, but she still has yet to actually say the words _my fiancée._

"Try it. Just say it."

She raises her eyebrows at him. She doesn't want to admit it, but she is kind of anxious to see how the words taste on her tongue.

"Say it," he persists, his voice low and playful and his eyebrows waggling at her.

Still she resists. Partly because it feels weird to say it just for the sake of saying it out loud, and partly because it's just in her nature to balk. It wouldn't be them if he didn't nag and she didn't resist. They're getting so much better at breaking that cycle where it counts, but in these playful moments the old habits still reign.

"I know for fact that unless you've been practicing in front of the mirror, you haven't said it out loud yet either. Come on, just try it."

She wants to scoff at him for suggesting that she might be the kind of girl to practice saying such a thing, but what she'd rather not share is that while she hasn't tested out the _my fiancée_ title yet, she has, in fact, tried out _Mrs. Kensi Deeks_ once or twice in the silence of her own apartment.

She relents, because he's adorable and because she wants to avoid him ferreting that little piece of information out of her.

"Marty Deeks, my fiancée. There, are you happy now?"

Despite her best efforts, she can't quite contain the grin that sneaks across her face when she says it. Darn him.

She would have said that everything felt real when he slipped the ring on her finger and she said yes. She's pretty sure she was there and fully aware as they were telling her mother and then their friends. Still, in this moment, with those words spoken out loud and hanging the air between them, it all becomes so much more real. They're getting married. Finally.

They stand there in the sand for a few minutes, grinning like idiots at each other, and she doesn't even care that they must look ridiculous to the passersby who are moving around them.

She's going to marry her best friend, and hell and high water don't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting in the way of that.

* * *

_AN: I find it interesting how powerful certain phrases can be when uttered out loud. I'm not married, but my brother has been married for seven years now. I'm completely used to saying "my sister-in-law," but once in a while for some reason I say "my brother's wife" instead, and it strikes me as crazy still, every time, to think that my bubba has a _wife_. __For some reason, some titles are just more meaningful when spoken aloud, and I could totally see Deeks having this reaction the first time he gets to say "fiancee." Maybe I'll have to do a husband/wife follow up at some point. _

_Love to hear what you think. _


End file.
